The Transfiguring Shift of Consciousness

Sermon preached by the Rev. Lowell E. Grisham, Rector

St. Paul's Episcopal Church, Fayetteville, Arkansas

August 5, 2012; Transfiguration Sunday, Year B

Episcopal Revised Common Lectionary

(Exodus 34:29-35)  Moses came down from Mount Sinai. As he came down from the mountain with the two tablets of the covenant in his hand, Moses did not know that the skin of his face shone because he had been talking with God. When Aaron and all the Israelites saw Moses, the skin of his face was shining, and they were afraid to come near him. But Moses called to them; and Aaron and all the leaders of the congregation returned to him, and Moses spoke with them. Afterward all the Israelites came near, and he gave them in commandment all that the LORD had spoken with him on Mount Sinai. When Moses had finished speaking with them, he put a veil on his face; but whenever Moses went in before the LORD to speak with him, he would take the veil off, until he came out; and when he came out, and told the Israelites what he had been commanded, the Israelites would see the face of Moses, that the skin of his face was shining; and Moses would put the veil on his face again, until he went in to speak with him.

(Luke 9:28-36)  About eight days after Jesus had foretold his death and resurrection, Jesus took with him Peter and John and James, and went up on the mountain to pray. And while he was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. Suddenly they saw two men, Moses and Elijah, talking to him. They appeared in glory and were speaking of his departure, which he was about to accomplish at Jerusalem. Now Peter and his companions were weighed down with sleep; but since they had stayed awake, they saw his glory and the two men who stood with him. Just as they were leaving him, Peter said to Jesus, "Master, it is good for us to be here; let us make three dwellings, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah"--not knowing what he said. While he was saying this, a cloud came and overshadowed them; and they were terrified as they entered the cloud. Then from the cloud came a voice that said, "This is my Son, my Chosen; listen to him!" When the voice had spoken, Jesus was found alone. And they kept silent and in those days told no one any of the things they had seen.

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Moses did not know that the skin on his face shone because he had been talking with God.  Exodus 34:29b

Have you been watching any of the Olympics?  One of the wonderful things about the games is seeing a competitor accomplishing something remarkable and challenging.  We watch the effort, the concentration, the sacrifice.  At those moments when it all comes together, when the competition ends – then we see the joy, the radiance.  And a young teenager, or maybe a tenacious older athlete seizing one last chance – stands before us beaming, glowing, resplendent – dazzling.  A fellow human being, transfigured in joy.  The happiness is contagious. 

Last year we I hosted a Sunday morning series called Authentic Happiness, and one of the things we talked about was the experience of “flow.”  Flow happens when we find ourselves doing something significant to us, and time seems to stand still.  It happens when we give ourselves to some task that is challenging and requires our skill; we have to concentrate; there are usually clear goals and we know the markers of our progress.  We enter a deep, almost effortless involvement in something meaningful that we have a measure of control over.  Sometimes were become so immersed in the effort that our sense of self vanishes; time stops.  When we emerge from the effort, often we experience a deep sense of gratification.

I get that way sometimes when I am studying something or trying to write.  I know someone who enters the flow when he ties fishing flies.  Another who gets lost in the creative process of cooking. 

I once watched a plumber concentrating, taking apart a complicated faucet with lots of small parts, breaking it down systematically, finding the debris that had inhibited its flow, then putting it all back together again flawlessly.  Immersed in his task, his hands moved with the beauty and precision of a ballet.  And when he was finished, he turned the water on full flow and beamed with satisfaction.  He was a transfigured plumber. 

There is a certain quality of mindfulness that only takes a small turn of consciousness, but it seems to open life to its transcendent dimensions. 

Yesterday I was watching my one-year-old granddaughter Laura.  She likes to help with watering the plants.  She helps make watering into play.  It wasn’t watering time, but she took the water pitcher outside as a toy.  We went to the driveway next to the faucet.  There she studied the twigs littering the concrete.  Some twigs she kept, placing them into the pitcher.  Others she discarded.  What did she see, or not see, as she carefully studied the qualities of each twig?

At one point she lay on her back on the front porch.  My eyes followed hers to look at the leaves in the sunlight, the play of green against blue sky, and the complex patterns of shape and color.  Through a child’s eyes, the world was radiant for me again – resplendent, shining, glorious, even dazzling.  Some hours later it struck me.  Recently I had talked with my neighbor about the possibility of our partnering to cut down that ugly, unwanted tree.  It’s all about how you are looking at it. 

Thursday morning I was writing my Morning Reflection as I do most weekdays.  I had gotten into the flow a bit.  I liked what I had created.  I clicked “print,” and it all disappeared.  Gone.  An hour’s work, and literally irreplaceable. 

Now usually I would begin to rant and rave, raising the emotional temperature and complaining of the injustice of life.  But it happened that part of what I had just been reflecting on was Psalm 71, a psalm about someone who is suffering, threatened and anxious, and who nevertheless turns to God for refuge and comfort.  He’s in a miserable situation, and yet he says, “Let my mouth be full of your praise and your glory all the day long.”  (vs. 8)  That’s the verse that had jumped out at me.  When I’m in a miserable situation, my mouth is usually full of complaint. 

But the last thing I had written, in that now-lost 800-plus-words, was about my intentional resolve to be more centered and courageous whenever I am threatened, anxious or frustrated.  So I was presented with an immediate opportunity.  I had irretrievably lost the entire content of what I had been writing for more than an hour.  And for once I took my own advice.  After a moment of grief and rage, I tried to turn again toward God.  I tried to fill my mouth with a bit of praise.  And I wrote a lesser piece (300 words), that had much less eloquence than the former, but a bit more authenticity.  And I felt pretty good about it.

How do we live with a more radiant, transfigured perspective?  How do we see the beauty and elegance around us, even in hard times?  How do we look at a cross and imagine resurrection?

 

Desmond Tutu is a model of radiance for me.  I first saw him during the darkest days of apartheid.  Beaming, chucking, laughing joyfully, he told us to pray for his white oppressors in South Africa, for they have already lost and do not know it.  For they fight against angels and archangels and all of the company of heaven.  They haven’t got a chance, and they don’t even know it!  Pray for them, he said.  That’s a transfigured vision.

Last week Bishop Tutu was in Hawaii, and he was asked, “Looking back on Nelson Mandela’s incredible life and your common struggle against apartheid, what would you say is the greatest lesson you learned about that painful time?” 

Bishop Tutu answered:

“First, I do not know what kind of person I might have turned out to be had I been subjected to the same conditions as the racists.  So I have learned to say thankfully, ‘There but for the grace of God go I.’  And then, I have been amazed by the resilience of those who have suffered grievously, their capacity to come up for more, and then when you expected them to be consumed by hatred and a lust for revenge, to be bowled over by their magnanimity and generosity of spirit in their willingness to forgive the perpetrators of even the most gruesome of atrocities.  I have learned that this is indeed a moral universe and that ultimately good and right will prevail over their ghastly counterparts.”  That’s a transfigured vision.

The interviewer asked him what his parting message would be for the young people of Hawaii and the U.S. 

Bishop Tutu said this: 

“Please go on being idealistic.  Dream, dream of a world where poverty is history, dream of a world where we don't spend those obscene billions on arms, knowing full well that a tiny fraction of those budgets of death would ensure that children everywhere had clean water to drink, could afford the cheap inoculations against preventable diseases, would have good schools, adequate healthcare and decent homes.  Dream of a world where children can laugh and play and not be blown up by a mine they thought was a toy; dream God's dream that we will wake up and realize that we are sisters and brothers, members of one family, God’s family, the human family.  Dream, be idealistic and don't be infected by the cynicism of us oldies.  This world, the only one we have can, yes, as you believe, be better; no, it can be great as the home for all.” 

Dream.  Imagine. 

Open your eyes to see the radiance of a concentrating plumber, the beauty of a twig, the praise that opens misfortune into grace.  It takes only a slight shift of consciousness to see the transfigured glory that fills creation. 

In a few minutes you’ll get to practice.  We are about to experience baptism.  If you’ve got a bit of imagination, you may see the heavens open and the Spirit descend.  You may hear the voice of God speak and say, “This is my beloved child!”  You may even feel the vibration of a memory buried deep in your own consciousness.   A memory of the time when the heavens opened and spoke over you, “This is my beloved child!”  You may know yourself to be the glorious, beloved child of God.  And if that happens, you might shine with a radiance like Moses, and not even know it, because you have been talking with God.